Demons
by Aerial312
Summary: Tony has a hard time dealing with his special assignment from the SecNav.


Tony was sitting at his desk with his head resting in the crook of his elbow when Ziva got out of the elevator. She had been expecting to find him exactly where he was even though it was 0500. She was so sure of it that she had even brought him a coffee, stickily sweet just how he liked it.

He had been working at many strange hours since he had begun this project for the SecNav. His hours were getting longer the more he learned about just how far this thing went. At least he had told them. She wasn't sure when he'd told Gibbs, but he had turned up on her doorstep the very evening he had been given the assignment. She wanted to help him, and she knew Gibbs did too, but for the most part he was choosing to shoulder the burden himself.

Of course, that was why she found him asleep at his desk two hours before they were due in. She was not going to wake him, not yet. He needed as much sleep as he could get. If he had to put the coffee into the microwave, oh well.

She set the coffee down on his desk, and flopped into her own chair. Sipping her tea, she studied him. He was not sleeping peacefully. His shoulders were bunched with tension, hands curled into fists. Her brow furrowed, and she focused in closer. Every now and then a shudder would run down his back. His breathing was off too—rapid and shallow instead of even and steady. He was not asleep.

Ziva knew all too well what was going on suddenly, and she crossed the aisle in an instant. She sat on his desk beside him, but he did not acknowledge her. She had not expected him to. Her hand hovered over his back. She wanted to touch him, but she hesitated, knowing that she herself would not have reacted well to touch when she was lost like this.

"Tony," she called softly.

He stiffened slightly, in recognition of her presence finally.

"It's just me," she told him, now giving into the urge, and placing her hand on his damp jacket. She ran the heel of her hand up and down.

"I…" Tony sputtered, unable to continue.

"I know," she assured. "Sit up."

"Can't…"

"I want to get your jacket and tie off."

She pulled on his shoulders, helping him to sit up. He looked like hell, pale and sweaty. His eyes caught hers briefly. He was trying—and failing—to hide from her just how terrified he was. She slid over into the place his head had been, and swiftly loosened the knot of his tie, tossing it aside. It was more difficult to get his jacket off of his shaking arms. She undid the top buttons of his shirt, and let his head tip forward again, onto her lap this time.

"Concentrate on breathing," she told him, cringing as she said it. The instructions were not nearly as easy as they sounded.

"Can't…" Tony managed again.

"I know that it is difficult—"

"No you—"

"_Yes_, I do." Her hand was on his back again, raking slowly up and down his nearly-drenched shirt. "In…" she counted as she grazed upward. "Out…" her hand grazed down.

He was not even close to the slow place she was setting, but she continued the cues. Gradually his breathing got closer and closer, until it matched the rate of her hand. As he relaxed, his body got more and more limp, his head still in her lap. Her hands trailed into his hair, and he responded to this—the first real reaction yet—purring softly against her thigh.

"Better?" she asked cautiously. Better was subjective. He was far from good.

"A little," he mumbled. They sat in silence for quite a while. "Is that coffee I smell?" Tony asked, turning his head to look up at her. He looked exhausted, but the terror was gone.

"It is," she smiled, pulling it closer.

"How did you know I would be here this early?"

"You've worked through the night several times on this project."

"But—"

"You were not at home."

"You checked on me?" he asked wearily, sitting up and taking a sip of his coffee.

She took a breath. "You were frustrated by this file—" she patted the manila folder she was sitting on, "last night when McGee and I went home."

"Still am."

"Exactly."

"You don't need to check on me," he grumbled half-heartedly, focusing the on the paper coffee cup in his hands.

"I wanted to stay and help."

He sighed. "I need to do this."

She nodded, though he was not looking at her. She was frustrated that he was shutting her out of this, but she did the same damn thing when the roles were reversed.

"Was this the first time-?" she asked.

"No," he answered sharply, "it wasn't." He put the coffee down so hard, some flew up out of the lid, and buried his head on her thigh again.

He clearly did not wish to talk about it. She understood that. She certainly never wanted to talk about it. In the silence that followed, she toyed with his hair. It was longer than she preferred, but the length gave her something to play with.

Several minutes passed, then out of nowhere Tony continued. "They started when this case got ridiculous." He sat up slowly. "The first time, I thought I was…" He shook his head.

"You thought you were having a heart attack," she finished simply.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "You know what it's like."

"I do." She patted his cheek.

He picked up his coffee again, and stared at the cup as he asked, "They stop, right?"

"Mine did, yes."

"How?"

That was not easy to explain. Ziva shrugged, telling him truthfully. "Time."

Tony sighed loudly.

"I also talked to someone. For quite some time," she admitted. "You know how much I hate that. But I think that it helped." She hoped he was satisfied with that answer, because she did not really want to get into specifics. She was past that point in her life, hoping to never have a panic attack again.

Tony was looking at her thoughtfully. He definitely had not known. She went to great lengths to make sure that everything seemed fine. "Talking to someone helped?"

Ziva nodded.

"Hmm…" he mused aloud.

But he did not press for more details, instead taking another sip of his coffee. His brow was furrowed, and his focus somewhere else entirely. The cup now sat precariously in his hand, dripping onto his lap. Ziva gently took it from his hand.

He looked up crossly. "I was drinking that."

"You were spilling that."

He scowled, putting his head down on her lap again. "I am so tired."

"You have almost two hours. There are mats in the gym that are not too uncomfortable." She was glad when he did not ask her to explain how she knew that. Often when she could not sleep, she exercised herself to exhaustion.

"I won't be able to fall asleep," He mumbled into her jeans. He showed no signs of moving.

Ziva grazed his scalp with her fingertips. "I think you will…"

He did not say anything after that, clearly drifting off to sleep after a short while. They were quite a sight, with her sitting on his desk, his head on her lap. Ziva looked around the bullpen. How quiet it was in the very early morning. There probably would not be another person in for another half hour at least. He could sleep for a while longer.


End file.
